


Cat and Mouse

by tunglo



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Begging, Edgeplay, Knifeplay, M/M, Men Crying, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 13:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11738226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tunglo/pseuds/tunglo
Summary: Gordon doesn’t know it yet, but Zsasz has added him to his collection.





	Cat and Mouse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [days4daisy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/gifts).



> Rare male slash exchange 2017 treat for days4daisy. The idea of these two together intrigued me! :)

Gordon doesn’t know it yet, but Zsasz has added him to his collection.

It’s not the self-righteous tilt to his jaw - although that’s part of it - and it’s not even Gordon’s logical thinking and honed killer instinct, although it’s rare enough that it gives them a common affinity.

It’s Gordon’s self-control that appeals to him, all that tightly wound need to do better and be better, and how wonderful it would be to see him lose it entirely.

He could have done it as soon as the decision was made, but there would have been no fun in that. No sport, and Victor is nothing if not a good sportsman. He likes to give his prey a fighting chance.

It’s the little things.

Gordon impresses him all the more. His ingenuity when faced with a crisis, and the sheer force of will that keeps him sane through Blackgate, and his ex - exes - wanting him dead, and even the Tetch virus.

He hears the tales, sees the aftermath for himself, and decides that it’s time to finally back his mouse into a corner.

Drunk as he is, Gordon still puts up a struggle. Calls out for whoever is following him home to show themselves, and Victor lets his steps sound a little louder, creep a little closer, because it’s all part of the game. Simply waiting in the darkness of Jim’s empty apartment could never have been anywhere near as satisfying.

Jim spins around again another block over, and Victor thinks that he must have known exactly what the score was.

He chose to take a dimly lit shortcut.

“Zsasz,” he says, sure enough, no surprise in his tone. Victor likes it, along with the flash of fear that Jim swallows down almost before he has chance to catch it.

They are going to have such a very good time.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, it’s your decision.”

Jim fights, of course, and Victor thinks that if Jim were sober, if his measures hadn’t been quite so generous, he might have succeeded in getting away from him. As it is he has Jim’s wrists bound in moments, and he doesn’t waste time in getting him gagged and transported.

The gag is only temporary, he reassures. He wants to hear every sound Jim makes when they play together. But it’s late, and even in this neighborhood somebody might report a scream. It isn’t a risk he deems worth taking.

Jim only glares at him, those big blue eyes needy and vulnerable, and Victor tells him in detail what he has planned for the evening.

“You’re crazy,” is the first thing Jim says when he pulls the gag free, and Victor grins at him.

“You really are a sweet talker.”

He writhes and struggles at first, as Victor unbuttons his shirt so that it hangs artistically off his shoulders, and sets about properly securing Jim for the duration. He takes his time with the rope work, touching Jim, teasing him, until he’s fighting to stay still and not let on how it’s affecting him.

Victor can see anyway, the outline of Jim’s erection through the fabric of his suit trousers. It would be better if they were tighter, more skin hugging. Perhaps next time he’ll dress Jim up before he strips him back off.

In the present the rope is enough. He chose it specially, knows it’s going to look spectacular against Jim’s golden skin, and he steps back to admire his handiwork. Watches Jim strain against the bonds, slowly realizing that there is no way out of them.

“What are you going to do to me?” He demands, all low growl, then when he sees the knife a note of panic sounds. “Zsasz, what the fuck do you want from me?”

“I already told you.”

Jim yells. Calls out for help he has to know is never going to come and Victor raises an eyebrow, amused.

“There’s nobody around but my girls. Do you want them to come in and watch?”

He’s possessive about his things, but they’re his too and, besides, if that’s what Jim likes he is willing to oblige. He wants Jim to enjoy this.

He wants Jim to look forward to next time.

“Just get it over with,” Jim grits out, and glares off into the middle distance, like that’s going to help him keep his composure.

Victor smirks. Kneels at Jim’s feet and rubs his cheek against the heat of his arousal. Mouths at it through the fabric and delights at the way Jim is so responsive, biting back noises already, because he’s been such a very good boy. Has waited such a very long time, nobody touching him at all since his reporter friend disappeared back where she came from, and Victor wants to reward him for it.

“Shh,” he soothes, and takes the knife in hand. Strokes his free hand along the length of Jim’s thigh, calming as he cuts away Jim’s clothing. The trousers and the undershirt, and then he abandons the knife for a few moments, to unlace Jim’s shoes and leave him bare footed. He teases them with the flat of the cold blade, then slowly trails the knife up Jim’s leg, never breaking the skin though Jim twitches and shivers helplessly.

“You don’t need to do this,” Jim says when he reaches the hem of his underwear. He sounds sincere but his dick is still straining for attention, and when Victor licks at the head through the thin fabric, looking up to gauge Jim’s reaction, the sharp gasp Jim can’t hide is thoroughly gratifying.

“I want to,” he reassures, Jim making some desperate cut off noise, and he uses the knife to finish stripping him out of the last of his clothing. Jim’s dick is so pretty, flushed rosy at the head and already curving up towards his stomach. He clearly wants it so bad, needs it so fervently, and Victor presses a kiss to the tip because by the time he’s done, Jim is going to understand how lucky he is to have been chosen.

He works Jim slow and steady, teasing with the edge of the knife and tormenting with his fingers. He lavishes attention everywhere, pays worship to the beautiful scars - the bullet wounds and the jagged stab marks - that litter Jim’s body, Jim’s cock telling him everything Jim’s pride prevents his mouth from voicing.

Because Jim does an admirable job of keeping quiet, at least in the short term. Bites down at his bottom lip until it’s bloody, and swallows back the pleas and whimpers, leaving it to Victor to determine how close he is - what the hitches in his breathing mean, and to note how frantically his hips push forward, whenever his body betrays him.

But even the great Jim Gordon has his limits, and finally he cries out when Victor removes his hand again at the very last moment. He can’t keep his mouth shut any longer, whining and wanting, and perhaps it’s the slick tightness of his fist around Jim’s dick, torturing him all over again, or perhaps it’s the realization that it’s not going to make a difference anyway. Whatever the truth of the matter, Jim finally starts begging.

Starts sobbing when Victor only coos and circles the knife around one of Jim’s nipples, the new sensation overwhelming.

“Say you’re mine,” he commands when Jim topples over his breaking point. When his cheeks are wet with tears and his dick is so stiff and so swollen Victor knows it must be the most exquisite agony.

“I’m yours,” Jim rasps, scarcely any hesitation, and it warms Victor’s heart to hear it. Is so perfect he slices a single cut into Jim’s flesh, because the man deserves the acknowledgement. “I’m yours,” Jim repeats, half frenzied now, “now let me come. Please, please, I need to come.”

“I know,” Victor says, fond smile pulling at his lips. “And you will. Before the night is done.”

Jim sobs anew, unable to control himself, and Victor licks the blood welling from his mark in one long, clean swipe, to bind them that little closer together.

Gordon’s his now.

It’s his job to do right by him.

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


End file.
